


Lie Before the Wicked

by synonymouse



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dubious Consent, F/F, Femdom, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, shackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonymouse/pseuds/synonymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Hawke had gotten to choose which of her companions would find her naked and shackled to a bed, she probably wouldn't have chosen Isabela. Of course, from Isabela's perspective, things could not have worked out better if she had planned them herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Still trying to distract myself from my Solas obsession with kink meme prompts. And having way too much fun with this one...
>
>> Hawke and Isabela don't get along. Hawke is Andrastian and thinks Isabela's lifestyle is downright inappropriate. That doesn't stop Isabela from flirting shamelessly with her, of course. And Hawke may secretly think Isabela is kind of beautiful, but then there's her personality, which sort of kills the whole thing.
>> 
>> One day, Isabela saves Hawke from people who kidnapped her, and finds her tied up and entirely helpless. And Isabela's not one to force anything on anyone, but when life gives you such a pretty little present all wrapped up in a bow like that? You have to jump on it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, greatly appreciated. <3 

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter."

The whisper was frightfully loud in the silent darkness. Hawke licked her lips, tried to clear her throat without making another sound. For all she knew, her captors were just outside the door, waiting for her to betray herself. Her fear.

_Maker_ , she thought,  _how do I stand against the wicked when I'm tied down?_  She wondered if there was a verse for her situation. 'Blessed are they who are shackled on a bed by the corrupt and the wicked, and do not wet it in terror,' perhaps. Although somehow that didn't have quite the ring to it that the rest of the Chant carried.

How had she even ended up here? She must have grown sloppy. Soft and complacent. Aveline had complained that she didn't show up for sparring practise as often these days. She really should have been able to handle half a dozen thugs on her own. Back before she was the Champion, she surely would have.

But she hadn't handled them, they had handled her, and now she didn't know where she was. Only that she was lying on a bed, naked, with a coarse hood covering her head and heavy metal shackles holding her limbs aspread. She had never been this vulnerable. And never this afraid.

Noises outside, shuffling and thuds muffled by the door. She shifted nervously. Someone entered, bringing light that filtered through the cloth of her hood. There was a gasp.

The hood was pulled off her head. When her eyes got used to the light and everything stopped being a horrible blur, a face came into view.

"Oh, great," Hawke muttered.

 

Isabela tut-tutted. "Here I thought you'd be happy to see me. Is this the thanks I get for tracking you down and rescuing you?" She smirked at the adorable frown on Hawke's face. Oh, but this was absolutely delicious. The formidable warrior strapped down on a bed, spread-eagled and exposed. She was so vulnerable, it just made her want to ...

"I ... you what? Where are the others?" Hawke asked.

She shrugged. "Didn't stop to find out. There was a ransom note and I figured there was no time to waste. From the looks of things, I was right."

Hawke seemed momentarily taken aback, her eyes widening a fraction. "You really ... you really just ... came for me. On your own? To rescue me?"

"I'd be hurt that this would surprise you, but I guess I sorta deserve it, all things considered," Isabela said. She let her eyes roam over Hawke's naked form, making no effort to hide her appreciation. "But this ... this view really is its own reward," she grinned, and Hawke started squirming again, flexing her shoulders against the shackles affixing her wrists to the bedposts. She was trying to bring her knees together, too, but there was a long, thick metal bar holding her ankles far apart. The resulting struggle made for a gorgeous display of muscle and Isabela found her mouth watering.

"Blast it, woman!" Hawke gasped. She was obviously flustered, and that made her angry. Which made everything all the better. "Stop staring and unlock these things!"

There was no way she could not try to work this to her advantage, somehow...

 

"Hold your horses, Champion," Isabela sneered, bending over one of her wrists. "You can't rush an artist." Hawke found herself staring at her cleavage, which was so deep she thought her breasts must come tumbling out any moment now. Wait, what kind of a thought was that? She snapped her eyes away, stared at the ceiling instead.

Why did it have to be  _her?_ Why couldn't ... why couldn't Fenris have found her? No, wait, not Fenris. Sebastian? Merrill? Oh, Maker, that would have been even worse. The poor girl would have sprained her tongue stammering, then probably fallen over out of sheer embarrassment and hit her head on something. Truth be told, there wasn't anyone Hawke would feel particularly comfortable with finding her in this position. But  _Isabela?_ Years of outrageous flirtation rebuffed. Years of comments to the effect of Isabela being certain she would, eventually, land Hawke on her back. And here she was, on her back. She would never live this down.

Isabela fiddled with the lock. It seemed to take ages. "Maker's breath, Isabela, what is taking you so long?"

"The lock is half rusted shut," the pirate retorted. "I can't seem to..." There was a disconcerting snap of metal. "Shit! The pick snapped. It's stuck inside."

"Well get another one! At least get my other hand free, we can..."

"I don't have another one! I didn't have time to pack! I left in a bit of a hurry, remember?" Isabela gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll see if I can find some keys. Stay put."

She stayed put. It's not like she had much choice in the matter, but she tried to relax. While Isabela moved through the room, searching, she went through what she knew of the Canticle of Trials in her mind. She cursed herself that she hadn't studied it better. She should visit the Chantry more often. There never was enough time, was there? Ending up like this, at the mercy of a libidinous, ungodly pirate, really only served her right.

Well, no, it didn't. She snarled and tugged angrily at her bonds. No one deserved this.  
  
  
  
Isabela made a great show of carefully picking through the room, and then leaving it to go over the one outside. She had, of course, already pocketed the keys that would undoubtedly unlock the shackles before she even entered the room. Keys were good, never leave keys lying around. And why would they be anywhere other than in the pockets of Hawke's captors? But Hawke couldn't know that. And so she kept 'searching' for a time, leaving the Champion to stew in her embarrassment. When she returned, Hawke was lying with her eyes closed, her jaw muscles twitching with irritation.

"Uh, Hawke?" Isabela said as she approached the bed, carefully composing an innocently concerned expression. "I'm so sorry but ... I really can't seem to find any keys. Maybe the guys outside weren't the only ones, maybe someone left with the keys before I came here?" She sat down by Hawke's side.

"Well. Shit," Hawke growled. "You're gonna have to go fetch someone."

"I'm not leaving you here!" Isabela exclaimed. "If there's more of them, if they come back and discover their friends are dead, what do you think they'll do to you?"

Hawke nearly screamed. "Then what do you propose?!"

"I left a note for the others. They'll come, eventually. I'll stay here and watch over you."

For a few long moments, Hawke merely stared at her, eyes wild and panicked, head raised from the mattress. She almost regretted her deceit; the Champion seemed frightened for real. But then again, a little fear never hurt anyone. And she really could stand to be bumped down a few notches. Eventually, Hawke relaxed her neck and her head fell back with a thump. She stared at the ceiling. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Some abandoned house on the coast. Half a day's trek from Kirkwall." Which was entirely true. It was also true that it had been late evening when she had left Kirkwall, which meant that it was unlikely that anyone would find her note for a few hours yet. Which left her ample time to get Hawke used to this ... new situation.

 

"Drink?"

"Not thirsty," Hawke muttered. She was parched, but she would rather be parched than suffer the indignity of wetting the bed in front of Isabela. The longer she could put off drinking, the better.

Isabela hovered over her, eyebrows drawn together and up in an unaccustomed expression that Hawke eventually had to categorise as 'worried'. "You really should drink something," she said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't want to drink! Stop fussing!" she snarled and tried to twist away from her. A flare of pain in her leg made her gasp, her entire body going rigid as her leg cramped. "Ah! Maker," she whimpered. She couldn't even tell which muscle it was that acted up, it felt like it was all of them.

"Cramp?" Isabela asked. "No wonder. Here, I'll give you a massage."

"Fuck if you will!"

But Isabela was already moving onto the bed, sitting between her legs. "Oh hush. I learned some great tricks in Antiva. Would you rather be in agony?" Her hands were on her ankle, sliding softly upward and squeezing. Hawke groaned, shutting her eyes.

The worst part wasn't the pain, not really. She could deal with pain. She was, in fact, a bit of an expert at that.

No, the worst part was how good Isabela's hands felt. Warm and unexpectedly soft, fingers strong but nimble. They dug into her taut, twitching muscles and slowly worked out the tensions, moving ever upward. The cramps abated, the pain lessened, and Hawke stopped groaning. All she heard now was her own breathing, deep and steady, as Isabela rhythmically stroked and squeezed her thighs. She alternated between her legs, claiming there was no harm in some preemptive massage, to avoid further cramping. Hawke was too tired to argue.

And, yes, it felt good. Much too good. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched her skin other than to shake her hand. She couldn't remember the last time she had ... shit, why was she even thinking of this now? This was  _Isabela_. They were friends, after a fashion, and she was undeniably attractive, but Hawke had absolutely no illusions about her. She was uncouth, blasphemous, and quite frankly an unrepentant slut. So Hawke longed for a bit of intimacy, but what Isabela had to offer wasn't that. What Isabela had to offer was just ... filthy.

Soft hands on her inner thighs brought her back to her situation. Isabela shifted position, and suddenly she felt her breath streaming over her skin. It was warm.

A soft whimper escaped her treacherous lips, and when she opened her eyes, Isabela was smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

_Gotcha_. That tiny little noise at the back of Hawke's throat, all high and brittle and almost ... girly. Isabela smiled, leaning back a little, eyeing the woman before her. There had never been anything particularly girly about Hawke; she was all power packed into long tight muscle, hands calloused from swordplay, brow furrowed in determination, lips curled in a cocky smile. She used to scoff at her sister's longing for beautiful clothes, not quite recognising that the way she kept her own armor shining like the sun was every bit as vain. And now? Here she was spread out before Isabela, whimpering like a girl at her touch.

And she was gorgeous. This had been too long in coming, Isabela thought -- and to think she had almost run away.  _This_  was why she came back. Because Hawke was irresistible, no matter how much of a sanctimonious, self-righteous prig she could be. She would never have spread her legs for Isabela willingly, of course, and Isabela had begun to despair that an opportunity would ever present itself. Now, suddenly, it seemed like she had gained a whole new galaxy of lucky stars, what with fate serving Hawke up on a silver platter.

It was tempting to just dive in, but no. That was not what she wanted. First, she was going to make  _Hawke_  want it.

She slid her hands further up Hawke's smooth thighs, ever so slowly. The muscles of her groin twitched; she would be wanting to close her legs again. Where they met, a dark thatch of hair, neatly trimmed. Isabela ran her thumbs gently along it, the hair unexpectedly soft underneath them. Hawke's legs were spread wide enough that her lips were parted, cleft exposed. This close, Isabela could smell her; a sweet, slightly musky scent.

"I'm pretty sure the cramp passed," Hawke said. She was trying for sassy, but there was a slight tremor in her voice that Isabela found absolutely delightful. Clearly, the worst of her fear and resultant anger had passed with her cramps, and Isabela judged that she was now more nervous than anything. Clearing her throat, Hawke added, "I'm also pretty sure  _that's_  not where I was cramping."

"Just helping you relax, sweet thing," Isabela purred. "We have time to pass."

"How about I pass it here, and you pass it ... somewhere not here?"

"Oh, stop being such a prude, Hawke," Isabela chuckled. "I've already seen all there is to see, and you've clearly enjoyed the massage so far. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do. Don't you trust me?"

"No."

Alright, that stung a little. But, again, she really did deserve it. Especially since she was sort of lying. Isabela shrugged off the hurt and let her hands wander around to Hawke's hips, continuing up to her waist. She leaned forwards as she did, bringing her face closer to Hawke's, and gave her a smile. "Well, then, we'll make this a trust exercise. I'm going to continue the massage, and you're going to learn that I do possess some amount of self-control."

And, of course, Hawke herself would learn that she had far less self-control than she thought.

 

Hawke clenched her jaw. Her instinct was to scream at Isabela to leave, but truth be told, she didn't really want to be alone. Not like this. There was of course the part where Isabela just wouldn't stop  _touching_  her, but what if she yelled at her and she left completely? What if she pissed Isabela off to the point where she decided Hawke wasn't worth saving, after all? And what if she was right, what if there were others coming?

At least she was fairly certain Isabela didn't wish her harm, no matter how inappropriate she was being. The men who had captured her ... she wasn't sure what they had wanted exactly, but it was definitely not something that involved her living to a ripe old age, moving into a countryside estate, breeding mabari and bouncing grandchildren on her lap. So. Given the options, she supposed having Isabela give her what was apparently to be a full-body massage was at least marginally preferable.

Isabela took her hands off her for a moment and Hawke looked up. "Patience, I'll just be a minute," she said with a wry grin, and proceeded to get off the bed to remove her equipment. And most of her jewelry. And clothes. When she came back, all that remained was that ridiculous white chemise and the scarf holding her hair back. She promptly stradded Hawke's lap and resumed her caresses. Hawke found herself having to make an effort not to stare at the curves of her brown thighs in the golden lamplight, the dark hollow at the base of her slender throat.  _Andraste's flaming knickers_ , she blasphemed quietly, why did the woman have to be so damn  _hot?_

If the pirate noticed her glances, she gave no sign of it, instead continuing where she had left off. Her fingers played over the muscles of Hawke's belly, gently stroked the skin stretched over her ribs. There was something almost reverent over her touch, her absolute concentration. Then she let go and reached up to touch her shoulders and upper arms. Hawke stifled a moan.

"You're very tense. You in pain?" Isabela asked.

She grunted. "Nah, it's fine. This is how I sleep every night."

"Mhmm."

Isabela leaned forwards to get better access, giving Hawke another excellent view of her cleavage. It was hard to look away. Every time she shifted to get at her arms or shoulders, she ground gently against Hawke's lower regions, breasts swaying just before her eyes. Was this planned? It had to be! She seemed oblivious, completely wrapped up in her deep but careful massage of Hawke's straining muscles. But since when did Isabela give away lapdances without even realising it? Hawke trembled slightly, trying to ignore the way her skin had started to tingle, the way her cheeks were hot as if flushed.

At last, Isabela leaned back again, letting her hands trail down, brushing the sides of Hawke's breasts as she did. It might have been an accident. It might not have been. Either way, the touch elicited another moan, one Hawke didn't have the presence of mind to stop, and she gave Isabela a slightly panicked look. The other woman smirked ever so slightly, cocking an eyebrow. "What was that? You want me to massage your tits, too?"

"No, I--"

"Oh but I think you do! Look," Isabela said, cupping Hawke's breasts gently and pushing them together. "Your nipples got all stiff."

Hawke didn't look down. She didn't need to, she could  _feel_  her nipples tightening to Isabela's touch. And now Isabela let go of her breasts only to caress them ever so lightly with her fingers, starting at the edges and spiraling slowly inwards. Hawke shut her eyes tightly and bit her lip to keep from making another noise. Soon, the touch would reach her nipples ... soon ...

And then Isabela stopped, sat back up, and got off her lap. What the hell? She looked up, and then she realised what she must look like, and shit, was she seriously just  _pining_  for Isabela to touch her  _nipples?_

Isabela looked down on her from the side of the bed and gave a throaty laugh. "My my, what's this? I do think you're getting a bit excited, Hawke..."

 

This was almost too easy. Hawke was giving her a look like a confused puppy. Isabela had to stop herself from giggling like a girl.

"I'm not!" Hawke retorted, her voice rather higher than usual. "And you said you wouldn't do anything I didn't want you to do!"

"Uh-huh. And can you honestly say you didn't want me to continue, just then?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Indeed," she laughed. "You can absolutely not say that and be honest!" She put her hand on Hawke's knee, ignoring how the woman twitched and squirmed, and moved it slowly, gently up her thigh. Hawke was panting now, straining against her shackles.

"You ... fucking ... bitch! You can't do this! Stop it right this moment!"

Isabela shook her head, tut-tutting. "I thought the Chantry had rules against being dishonest. Ah well -- whatever that filthy mouth of yours says, I bet your other lips won't lie." She crawled onto the bed proper again, kneeling between Hawke's legs. Sure enough, there was a faint shimmer of moisture edging Hawke's slightly parted labia. Once again she put her hands on Hawke's legs, trailing her fingers teasingly along the soft skin of her inner thighs. Hawke was trembling visibly now, her muscles hard and twitching.

"You want this, Hawke. You need it," she whispered as her hands reached Hawke's groin. "You're so wound up all the time. You carry so much responsibility. You need to relax sometimes, realise that everything isn't always up to you..."

She ran her thumbs along Hawke's outer lips, at first just caressing, then gently pulling them apart, exposing her wet folds to the cool night air. Bending down, she inhaled the heady scent of Hawke's arousal, and again she had to hold herself back from simply diving in. Instead she breathed gently against Hawke's sex, letting a warm stream of air caress her. Hawke was whimpering, her hips bucking slightly, up and then down, mimicking the war that undoubtedly raged inside her.

Poor woman. She really  _did_ need this.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke tried to pray. Then she stopped, because she kept interspersing the prayers with cursewords, and that really did not seem very pious. Besides, if there was ever a time when she did  _not_  want the Maker to actually turn His eye on her, it was probably now. Not that she thought He would, of course. But just in case, she should probably stop blaspheming.

Unfortunately, Isabela's breath against her most intimate parts made it very, very difficult not to.

"Ma... goddammit," she whispered.

"What was that?" Isabela murmured between her legs.

"Nothing. Shut up. I mean, stop. Fuck!"

Her lower lips were pulled apart by another fraction of an inch. She sucked a breath through her teeth, then tried to relax, to appear unaffected. It was, she realised, quite a ridiculous pretense, but at least she felt like she was doing the right thing.

"You're not making much sense, honeycakes," Isabela said, massaging her groin gently. When she spoke, her breath hit Hawke's sex in little puffs, and she had to suppress another whimper. "Thankfully, I speak 'horny' fluently. But if you want me to stop teasing and start fucking you, you'll have ask nicely."

Hawke ground her teeth together, refusing to respond. No way would she ask for this. No, fucking, way. So she couldn't completely shut down her body, that was hardly her fault. But she refused to give Isabela the satisfaction of hearing her verbalise her desire. Because she did  _not_  want this, not now, not ever. Not with her. No matter what her body had to say about it.

Isabela's lips on her thighs, trailing kisses, mouth hot against her skin, ever upwards until she reached her groin.  _Blessed Andraste_. Softly she edged around, never quite touching her sex. Then she started over. Hawke moaned despite herself, and heard Isabela chuckling huskily in response. The next time she reached her groin she continued upwards, over her belly, tongue dipping briefly into her navel before she moved on. She was propping herself up on her elbow, body lying over Hawke's thigh, one hand gently massaging her groin. It rested briefly on her pubic mound and then she slipped her fingers downwards to once more spread Hawke's cunt open, careful not to touch her more sensitive parts. Her lips and tongue trailed the outside of Hawke's breast, retracing the spiral her fingers had made. And then she came to a stop, mouth hovering by her erect nipple, each breath cooling the trail of saliva. Hawke shivered.

"I could leave it here," Isabela whispered. "If that's truly what you want. I'm not going to force this on you."

Hawke said nothing. She closed her eyes tight, choking down the moan that threatened to erupt from her throat.

"Let go, Hawke. Let me take control. Should anyone ever find out, you can tell them that you were helpless to stop me, that I took advantage of you. You can tell yourself that too, if you need to. Just let go."

Another shiver went through her body. Her sensitive spots were screaming to be touched. How was this even possible?! How could she be turned on in a situation like this? This wasn't sexy, this was just wrong! Somewhere at the back of her mind, a tiny little voice whispered that  _yes, it's wrong, and that's why you like it_. That maybe, at the bottom of her heart, her disdain for Isabela and her lifestyle had always been fuelled by envy.

"Shit..." Hawke almost sobbed. "What the fuck have you done to me. Maker forgive me..."

 

"Tell you what," Isabela said softly, massaging Hawke's pubic mound as she spoke. The motion would be tugging at her clit, but not giving her any direct stimulation. Oh, this was cruel, but the woman's reactions spoke volumes. Though she had started this little quest of hers for mostly selfish reasons, Isabela now found that she really did believe that Hawke needed this as much as she wanted it. Now it was just up to her to find the right buttons, and push them. "You don't have to ask nicely. You don't even have to ask  _me_. Just ... pray for release. Then you've done nothing wrong, and no one could fault you for what happens next. Not even the Maker."

There were a few moments of breathless silence. Isabela stopped all motion, simply waiting, Hawke quivering like a bowstring beneath her. Then, finally: "O Maker ... hear my cry ... Guide ... guide me through the blackest nights. Uhh ... Steel my heart against the temptations of the wi-wicked... Make me t-- Aahh!"

The cry made Isabela grin, but only on the inside because her lips were clamped around Hawke's nipple, tongue flicking gently over the tip. She had brought her fingers together, closing them on Hawke's clit, which caused her hips to buck wildly. Hawke was still fighting the pleasure, presumably out of sheer pig-headedness, but there was no mistaking which side of her was winning out. Her moans were music to Isabela's ears.

She expertly rubbed Hawke's clit, listening to the signals of her body. It wasn't long before it started going more and more rigid and Hawke was lifting her hips off the mattress, a keening moan beginning at the back of her throat.  _So very sensitive_. Isabela withdrew, smirking.

Hawke whimpered and looked up at her, her body collapsing back onto the bed. Again with the puppy eyes! Isabela chuckled gently and planted a kiss on her breast. "Not so fast, sweetness," she murmured and slid down between her legs once more. "I'm only just getting started."

 

She had been so close.  _So close_. Now Hawke cringed inwardly with embarrassment at exactly how panicked she had felt when Isabela removed her hand just moments before she would have peaked.

_Just let go_ , Isabela had told her. But it was so damn difficult. All her life was about trying to maintain control. Of course, she rarely succeeded. No matter how prepared she thought she was, something always spiraled out of her hands and then everything inevitably went to shit. In a way, she supposed, it wasn't so bad to be stuck like this. Right now, if something went wrong, it really wouldn't be her fault, nor would it be her responsibility to fix it.

Still. The fact that she desperately craved an orgasm and Isabela stopped touching her just short of giving her one...

Her line of thought was interrupted by the feeling of Isabela's lips against her groin. "Fuuuck," she heard herself say, voice hoarse with pleasure. Isabela's tongue quested closer and closer to her cleft. Her body was trying to grind her crotch into Isabela's face quite without checking in with her brain first, and she found herself having to fight it and force it to be still. Her bucking only seemed to delay Isabela's journey.

Another deep moan came as she felt Isabela lap gently at the inner folds of her sex. Moments later, her tongue was pushing inside her. She clenched instinctively, her cunt so desperate for every little bit of stimulation that she accidentally pushed Isabela out. This hardly deterred her, however. She merely continued pressing up against her opening and probing until she got inside again, and then she was fucking Hawke with her tongue.

Apparently, that was a thing. And suddenly Hawke was beginning to feel like maybe, just maybe, only allowing pious, marriage-minded men to woo her (or try, at any rate) meant she had been missing out.


	4. Chapter 4

Isabela was in her own kind of heaven. This was everything she'd dreamed, and more. Everything about Hawke was just divine; her taste, her scent, the way she fought to stay still and not interrupt Isabela's questing tongue ... Isabela could feel the woman's frustration mounting again. She really, really wanted that orgasm. Briefly, she considered making her beg for it, but that seemed excessively cruel at this point, even to her.

She withdrew her tongue, licking the juices smeared over her lips and wiping her chin with a grin. Shifting position slightly she moved up so her mouth could reach Hawke's clit while her fingers found her opening. Hawke was whimpering, her hips twitching impatiently until Isabela slipped two fingers inside her, simultaneously bringing her lips and tongue down on her clit. The whimpers were replaced by a guttural moan.

Isabela worked her fingers around Hawke's cunt, exploring and massaging, while her tongue flicked gently over her clit. Hawke was clenching around her, her muscles working harder the quicker Isabela's tongue moved. Her strength was impressive, even down there.

Her own sex was starting to demand attention. But, hell, she could touch herself any time. This was about Hawke. Still, she found herself really wishing she had brought her toy box. Of course, there was the slight problem of said box sitting in the captain's quarters of the Siren's Call, at the bottom of the damn ocean.

Momentarily distracted by her irritation over her lost life, Isabela gave Hawke's clit a gentle nip and then sat up slightly, moving so that she could see Hawke's face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she panted and moaned. When her clit suddenly wasn't getting any attention, she looked up at Isabela, eyes confused and glazed with arousal.

"You want to come?" Isabela murmured, bringing her free hand up to press two fingers lightly against Hawke's clit, without moving them. She had three fingers pumping steadily into her cunt by now, curling them slightly every time she pulled out to press against the spongy tissue of her upper wall, eliciting the most delightful litle gasps.

The Champion stared at her, at first seemingly uncomprehending, then nodded quickly. She licked her lips. "Maker, yes. Yes, please," she whispered hoarsely.

Isabela grinned. She hadn't even tried to make her beg -- Hawke just did anyway! "So well-mannered!" she chuckled, and started rubbing her clit. She would have done it with her tongue, but she wanted to see Hawke's face when she came. She  _needed_  it.

Soon enough, she got her reward.

 

Hawke screamed. She had never screamed during sex before, she was pretty sure. Moaned and grunted a bit, yes, but never screamed. Now, Isabela's fingers on and in her called forth the most animalistic noise she had ever made. Her entire body was convulsing, rigid muscles straining painfully against the shackles that kept her in place. Her cunt clamped down on Isabela's fingers, crushing them over and over.

And Isabela didn't stop. Always when she peaked alone she would leave off, let the storm shake her body once or twice and then wait for it to abate. But Isabela kept going, kept rubbing her most sensitive spot and working her fingers in and out and touching places inside her she didn't even knew  _existed_  before today. Isabela kept going and thus her body did too, quaking so hard that the bed creaked and rattled.

 _Maker's breath_ , was  _this_  what sex was supposed to be like? Hawke blasphemed in her mind and then realised she had been screaming "Oh, Maker, yes!" and suddenly she found that she didn't care at all right now.

"That's it, come for me..." Isabela was mumbling somewhere above her, and Hawke opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and tried to focus on her face. It was flushed, as was her chest. She was smiling; not the mocking smirk Hawke was used to but a genuine smile.

"Unh. Isabela. Please," she managed, her voice slurred. It was hard to speak when Isabela's hands were still coaxing her body into spasms. "Startin' to hurt."

Isabela chuckled gently and slowed, eventually stopping. Her hands remained where they were. Hawke gradually relaxed. As the pleasure released its grip on her body, other things clamored for attention, most notably her wrists and ankles. She had strained so hard against the shackles, they were now screaming with pain. She winced.

"You alright?" Isabela said. There was definitely concern in her voice. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

Hawke sighed, smiling and closing her eyes again. "No. No, I'm ... I'm fine. Better than fine, actually."

In fact, for the first time since she left Lothering, she felt truly relaxed.

 

Isabela could have continued. She would have, but ... somehow it seemed unnecessary. Instead, she curled up next to Hawke, pulling a blanket over them both for warmth. She watched Hawke sleep. Eventually, dawn arrived, and along with it, the rescue squad.

 

While Varric worked on the locks and Merrill and Sebastian cleaned up outside, Isabela found herself fixated by Aveline's furious glare. The guardswoman said nothing, but if looks could kill, Isabela was rather sure she'd be a wet patch on the floor by now. And the walls. And probably the ceiling. And for once, it was actually getting to her. "What?!" she blurted.

Aveline folded her arms. "This room reeks of sex."

She couldn't help herself. Cocking an eyebrow, voice full of doubt, she said, " _You_  know what sex smells like?"

"I swear, if you took advantage of Hawke, if you laid so much as a  _finger_  on her..."

Aveline was advancing on her now. Having unfolded her arms and squaring her shoulders and with her fists clenching and unclenching like she was imagining closing her hands around Isabela's throat, she was, quite frankly,  _terrifying_. Isabela took a couple of involuntary steps backward. What the fuck was she supposed to say now? She had promised Hawke she'd take the blame, if needed. She just hadn't expected Aveline to show up and jump to conclusions  _quite_  that quickly.

"Aveline. Stand down," Hawke's voice came from the bed. She was sitting up, rubbing her wrists. Varric had gotten the broken pick out of the lock just fine, as Isabela had known he would. Now he was working on freeing Hawke's feet. Hawke gave Aveline a steady look. "No one took advantage of anyone."

Eyes narrowed and full of suspicion, Aveline glanced at Hawke and then back at Isabela. "If you say so," she growled.

"Isabela dropped everything to come and rescue me," Hawke continued quietly. "She had no idea what she was facing but came anyway. Alone. Give her some credit."

Isabela managed to take her eyes off Aveline for just long enough to meet Hawke's calm gaze. They looked at each other for a few moments, until Varric announced his success with the shackles, and Hawke turned her attention on him instead. Isabela found herself slumping backwards to lean against the wall. She hugged herself, trying to make it look like she was just folding her arms casually.

Hawke hadn't done it. She hadn't thrown her to the wolves. Despite everything, she had  _defended_  her. The Champion of Kirkwall had defended her. Again.

Hidden in a compartment in her right boot, the shackle keys pressed uncomfortably into Isabela's thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. I seem to have gotten some plot in my plotless porn! I had so much fun writing these two I might just return to them in the future...


End file.
